Jason Boone, who was an Elon freshman when his father was killed on 9/11, shares his thoughts in an essay.
***************
Col. Canfield Boone was killed in the attack on the Pentagon on 9/11. His son Jason was just beginning college at Elon when the attacks occurred. Canfield Boone was not even supposed to be at work that day. It was his day off, but he went into the Pentagon to check on some paperwork. “It was just by chance that he was there,” his wife, Linda Boone, of Clifton Va, said.
On this 10th anniversary of 9/11, Jason Boone shares his thoughts in this essay:
Reflections on a decade since September 11th.
Jason Boone
In the 10 years since September 11, 2001, my good fortune has given me opportunities and taken me to places I would never have imagined. It is a peculiar concept to come to terms with, but who I am today and everything – good or bad – in my experiences has been impacted by a Tuesday morning 10 years ago when my father went to work at the Pentagon on what was supposed to be his day off.
I suppose I could take this time to relate my experiences from that milestone day and the ensuing weeks. But that has been done at other times in several other venues. There’s little I could say now, that I haven’t said before. It was awful. It was a truly awful time in my life. Thousands of people directly and personally affected would agree. Millions of people watching in fear or astonishment struggled to grasp the causes of 9/11 or the ramifications it would have. Having heard dozens of people’s personal stories, it’s reasonable to say that no one escaped the wide swath of misery cut that day.
My freshman year of college was catastrophically interrupted by tragedy and Elon was obviously a major venue in the hazy months that followed. In between visits home to attend to family matters, I proceeded in my college career and attempted to settle in and make Elon my home. My professors were nearly struck dumb at how to broach the topic with me. For all their wisdom in academia, they – like virtually everyone else – were at a loss. So they simply offered to talk. And I recall simple, yet poignant moments of compassion and friendship shared around campus. At times, I wondered if the warm smiles I was receiving were a direct result of the grief projected upon me. But as I grew to understand, Elon was a place where I was welcome and comforted – by my new friends and roommates and by the faculty and staff. President Lambert and others in the administrative staff made quite sure I understood that by choosing Elon, I had chosen to become a part of a community.
I recall the first time my older brothers came to see Elon. They drove down from northern Virginia and I showed them around the grounds – including Moseley, Alamance and my dorm in Jordan Center before getting in the car and returning to the DC area. We had to be back for the funeral. They would visit a few more times in more positive circumstances as the steady progression of time would begin to heal our pain.
At the time, I imagined my meager 18 years of life experience had left me ill-prepared to deal with the repercussions of public tragedy mixed with private grief. I wondered if it would have been any easier to comprehend had I been older. The truth, of course, is that no one with the capacity to understand what was happening was prepared or capable of handling it. At least, not alone.
Communal grief has a remarkable effect – one that seems counterintuitive. Instead of compounding and multiplying, it has the ability to relieve the crushing weight of fear or anger. On the surface, it seemed as if attending support groups would be depressing and piteous affairs but in actuality, they burst with levity, and participants enjoy the freedom of knowing exactly how others will respond to their emotions. Retreating into despair is the act of an isolated soul. But no soul is an island and it becomes impossible to hold on to anger for too long in the company of something genuine.
I have to remind myself that 10 years is a significant chunk of time. Current freshmen would have been in third grade at the time of the attacks. For young people who may have been old enough to see the events, but too young to fully comprehend, I hope they believe people like me when we say, “Yes, that one day in September, we were very afraid.” But the next day, we feared a little less. Eventually, we even had hope. Laughter and happiness would return – much sooner than I dared to guess. The way people of vastly divergent backgrounds united was a truly stunning event to witness. The cliché of united resolve was not simply a unit of political currency. It was palpable in every gathering. Even today, I am certain that the words people offer and the feelings behind them are genuine. I learned from my father to give people the benefit of the doubt and that trust and fairness are among the most admirable qualities of mankind.
People often apologize and sheepishly ask me about my experiences from September 11. I do my best to put them at ease for three reasons: 1) There isn’t a question I haven’t already been asked – by reporters, strangers or close friends. 2) I love talking about my Dad and trying to convey the idea I have of a remarkable man to others. 3) If by sharing my thoughts and memories, I can provide insight into that day, I am more than pleased to do so. I have but one point of view to offer and I hope that others are willing to share their memories as well. I have no doubt that Americans and citizens around the world will continue to honor the memory of the lives lost, and to that stream of knowledge, I am grateful for the opportunity to contribute my voice.
Lastly, to anyone this message reaches, if you find yourself in the Washington D.C. area, I urge you to visit the Pentagon Memorial. It is an emotionally rewarding and aesthetically beautiful tribute conceived and constructed in love and appreciation. It is open to the public 24 hours a day and is especially beautiful in the evening.
Contact Jason Boone at: boonejason@hotmail.com